


Discordance

by LadyLilyMalfoy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Nightmares, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:58:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLilyMalfoy/pseuds/LadyLilyMalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft is plagued by a recurring nightmare, and Gregcomforts him in the best way he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discordance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celestialteapot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialteapot/gifts).



It began, as it always did, with a twitch and a whimper - a movement so small it almost passed unnoticed, and surely would have done had this not become a regular occurrence over the past few weeks. Now, however, Greg was so highly attuned to the subtle variations in Mycroft’s sleep pattern that even the slightest shift that might indicate anything other than peace had him wide awake and fully alert within moments – ready and at arms to defend Mycroft from whatever it was that plagued him from night to night.

Careful not to disturb the arm upon which Mycroft lay – his body now rigid and quivering with tension – Greg cautiously levered himself up, positioning his own body almost protectively over Mycroft’s and watching as the creases of discomfort became more and more deeply etched upon his partner’s pallid brow.

It was all he could do to grit his teeth and wait. Greg had learnt through difficult experience that to interfere and pull Mycroft from his dream prematurely could do significantly more damage than good. It had to be allowed to peak, like a fever, and it was only then, once the nightmare had reached its climax, could Greg reach through and take his part.

 

Whether it lasted for five minutes or an hour, the wait was always tortuous to the same degree – a nightmare in itself. But wait he would, faithfully and gladly, whether it was not long after they had gone to bed or the sun was already beginning to rise, whilst Mycroft bore the cycles of his sleep. The whimpers would grow into moans – low, pained ones that never failed to cause a shiver to course down Greg’s spine and freeze his body, the same ones he heard and collected every time he was forced to bear bad news, the ones that always accompanied the silent crack of a heart being split into two – and Mycroft’s body, usually held with such poise and control, would jerk and shudder, as though volts of electricity were being forced through his nerves, as though he was fighting for his life and running and running and running away from something – everything – thrashing wildly at everything within range until there was no more ground to cover and too much to ward, and not enough fight left in him to do it with. Greg would feel him weaken besides him, unaware – as of yet – of the bruises blooming beneath his pyjamas as he waited, taking up the slack in his own body, for the peak.

It came, as it always did, suddenly and unexpectedly – delivering even more of a shock because of the heightened anticipation. With an abrupt silence that rang through Greg’s ears like an explosion, Mycroft’s teeth would clench together, his back would arch and his chest would heave as though he was struggling for air. It was only then that Greg could do what he had been desperate to do since the first sign awoke – reaching across the hot, crumpled sheets and catching Mycroft, drawing him in tight to his chest and holding him still – perfectly, absolutely still – unless the tide of the nightmare crashed and slowed and began to ebb away, leaving weakness in the place of tension, and a cold, film of sweat where an aching fever had existed only moments ago.

Keeping Mycroft steady with one hand, Greg reached down to pull up the duvet that had been kicked viciously away and pulled it up, tucking it tightly around Mycroft’s shoulders as the shivering set in. He didn’t showed any signs of waking, he never did. It was as though the nightmare, once over, was forgotten entirely and had never happened.

The first time, Mycroft had been shaken awake by a terrified Greg who was demanding to know what on the hell had just happened. Bleary eyed and inexplicably drained, Mycroft had only been able to offer a weak, confused kiss before collapsing back against Greg’s chest and falling into a deep, peaceful slumber, whilst Greg lay awake and traumatised for what little there was left of the night.

Now, he just let it go. With Mycroft’s chilled body gradually warming against his own, Greg pressed his cheek to the damp crown of Mycroft’s head and shut his eyes, timing his own breathing until they once again found peace in their own harmony and hoping that the next time would be easier.


End file.
